Sara wanted to do nothing more than pass out, but there was work to be done. The ship had suffered all kinds of damage from the battle, and it was a literal all-hands-on-deck effort to control it.

  The first priority was the central sail, which was still afme. The smoke was acrid, burning her nose and lungs with every breath, and it was getting worse. The lightening rain was nowhere close to putting it out, rather seeming to encourage the growing bonfire. Sara joined a group of sailors at the base of the mast, grabbing one end of a ten-foot saw that they were throwing back and forth. Hurlish and another group of sailors were braced at the left side of the deck, having impaled several of the Magecraft's wire grapples into the top of the mast. They were pulling with all their might, trying to ensure that the tower of wood would topple overboard, not onto the deck.

  Sara sawed as quickly as she could, hollering at a passing sailor to take her helmet off. Between the fight and fmes, she felt like she might die of heatstroke even before the fmes reached the deck.

  And they were coming down fast. Even with four of the burliest people on the ship throwing their backs into the sawing, cutting through the three-foot pilr was slow going. When she began to see light flickering at the edge of her vision, she yelled for everyone to drop the saw. Confused, but thoroughly uninterested in disobeying her, they hopped away.

  "Taze!" Sara shouted, using her st spell of the day. Blue lightning shot through the massive saw, biting into the wooden pilr. With a thunderous boom splinters flew from the wood, more mundane fmes charcoaling the wood in seconds. Hurlish, freshly bandaged wounds soaked red, pulled hard enough to crack the boards beneath her boots.

  With a terrifying groan the sail began to tip leftward, a fming tower burning into her retinas. Everyone scattered as the massive monolith came down, smashing an angled ditch through the left side of the hull, then bounced into the water. A bubbling cauldron was created where it nded, a geyser of steam hissing skyward. Sara was one of dozens who crowded the railing, watching the supernatural bonfire sink. Even as it fell beneath the waves, it continued to burn, a glowing beacon in bck waters. Sara watched it fade into the depths as the ship drifted away, a constant stream of bubbles marking the sail's position.

  After a quick scan of the deck, confirming that no more fires were left burning, Sara felt herself start to colpse. She wobbled over to the stairs and dropped unceremoniously onto her ass, breathing heavy. After catching her breath for a few minutes, she began to unstrap her armor, thanking the gods above for the foresight she'd had when she enchanted it. Protection runes were far more common, but the ease with which she slipped the suddenly pliable metal off was a wonderful relief.

  "How you holdin' up, Hurlish?" Sara hollered over to the orc, who was sitting with her back against the door that held the Crossed Glory's various prisoners. Her massive hammer, covered in torn metal armor and viscera, was pnted between her spyed legs.

  "Tell Nora she needs a damn healer!" The orc called back. "I got spoiled in Hagos. A few minutes walk to a spellslinger that could magic me up sure beats stitches."

  Sara stood with a grunt, removing her armored skirt and shoving it into her bag of holding. "I've got a few healing potions on hand," she reminded the orc, pulling one from the bag.

  Hurlishs hook her head tiredly. "Nah, hold onto 'em. Better to save someone's life than make my booboos feel better. I'll live till Tulian. I'm sure there's some priest or something there that can finish me off."

  "If you want," Sara said with a shrug. As she shoved the healing potions back into the bag, she realized her left arm was bloodsoaked. She lifted her shirt to inspect it, feeling a tug against clotted skin that made her hiss. "Shit, I thought I got out of that fight scot-free."

  "Got one on your leg there, too," Hurlish said, waving to Sara's right thigh. As soon as she looked down and saw the winding cut, the pain fred to life.

  "Fuck, Hurlish, why'd you tell me that?" She gasped, hopping on her good leg. "I didn't feel it 'till you pointed it out!"

  "You'da figured it out eventually."

  Sara hopped over to the orc, resting against the same door as she began to bandage her leg.

  "So who all have you got in here?" Sara asked, referring to the prisoners she'd seen Hurlish collecting while Sara'd been catching her breath.

  Hurlish counted them off on her fingers. "That soldier boss guy, the chick you stabbed in the leg, the guy whose knee you broke, which was pretty slick, by the way, and then I got two randoms who were still mad about us killin' Tilisa."

  "And you just threw them all in there together?" Sara asked. "Isn't that, like, an officer's room?"

  "Nup. Tied their wrists to their ankles behind their backs, then gagged 'em for good measure. They ain't gonna do much more than flop around."

  Sara stood with a groan, stabbing her sword into the deck to help herself up. "Ah, damn. I might feel stupid for this ter, but I'm not gonna let 'em roll around in there. At least, not all of them."

  "You're the boss," Hurlish said with a shrug, scooting to the side so Sara could enter the room. "If they give you trouble, just kill 'em."

  "They won't," Sara assured her. She opened the door a crack, gnced cautiously inside, then entered.

  This particur officer's quarters of the Crossed Glory was, if not ornate, far better than any other room on the ship. Tar lined the board gaps, for waterproofing, and there was an actual gss window and curtain on the far side. Both a bed and hammock were in the room, along with a writing desk and small chest for clothes.

  And there were also five hogtied prisoners, ripped bits of clothing stuffed into their mouths. Sara stood over them with her hands on her hip, deciding on the best course of action.

  She first went over to the woman she'd stabbed, untying her gag. Her wound looked bandaged, but Sara was no doctor.

  "Did they patch you up alright?" She asked.

  "Vaffanculo, vai a morire porca troia-!"

  "Yeah, I've got no idea what that means," Sara said, ignoring the woman's rabid ranting. She stepped over to the commanding officer, whose helmet had been removed by Hurlish to pce the gag.

  She paused as she noticed was his skin. He wasn't bck, like African-American bck, he was bck. His skin was featureless, like marble dunked in crude oil, without even pores to break up the obelisk-like smoothness. The only color on his body came from the white sclera of his eyes and his shining teeth, while everything else was solid bck. Even his irises and the inside of his mouth were dark as night.

  "Hey buddy, remember me?" Sara said as she undid his gag. "Does your homegirl over there need any more work done on her leg?"

  "Please a moment," he said, stretching his neck to the woman, who was still spitting what Sara could only assume to be vile profanities. "La tua gamba sta-"

  "Fanculo tua madre, fanculo tuo padre, fanculo tua nonna-"

  "Guardiamarina!" The man snapped, finally shutting off the torrent of words. "Hai bisogno di assistenza medica?"

  "Ho bisogno di una spada per uccidermi."

  The man turned to Sara. "She is fine for now. Her bandages need changed, but ter."

  "Gd to hear it," Sara said, though she had a more-than-sneaking suspicion that the interpretation was kinder than the literal transtion. She thought she heard 'spada' in there, which sounded an awful lot like spade, so Sara guessed the woman wanted to bury her. Ignoring the toothless threats, she crouched next to the Magecraft officer. "Okay, soldierboy, you talked a lot about honor on your ship back there. If I cut you loose, will you behave?"

  "Do you follow the Salian Accords, Champion?"

  "No idea what that is, but my world had the Geneva Conventions," Sara replied, though she failed to mention that she didn't really know what the Geneva Conventions were, either. "I don't kill prisoners, at least without a trial or something, and I won't ensve you or even force you to work. You'll be disarmed, and'll have to follow whatever rules the Captain decides on. Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure she knows what the Salian Accords are, if that helps."

  "Can you allow me more knowledge of your terms? I do not wish to agree to something uncertain."

  "Afraid not. Contracts and ws are all well and good, but I haven't seen a single one that didn't have its problems. I stick to my word, for the most part, and try to tell the truth, but at the end of the day I'll go off my gut."

  The man mulled it over. After a long while of consideration, which Sara patiently waited through, he nodded. "Your terms are difficult, but agreeable. I will do no harm to you or your crew."

  "S'not my crew," Sara told him as she began cutting through his ropes. "It's Captain Nora's ship, I'm just riding on it."

  "Your Captain Nora bested a Magecraft in a dromon," he stated, rubbing his wrists. "This is not possible."

  "Champion stuff, remember?" Sara said, fshing jazz-hands. "Impossible bullshit's kinda my M.O."

  "Such was shown well to me today," he sighed. He turned to the woman soldier, who was staring daggers up at Sara. "Is it possible to free her, as well?"

  "Uh, you really think that's a good idea? I don't think she's quite as agreeable as you."

  "Guardiamarina, ti comporterai?" He asked.

  She spat towards Sara's shoe.

  "I'm guessing that's a no," Sara intoned.

  "She will find reason in time."

  "Hopefully. Now, you're gonna have to get that armor off before you leave this room."

  "Of course." The man began the borious process of unbuckling his armor, which Sara was beginning to realize quite closely resembled what she'd seen in movies about Romans. Though there were probably a million and one little inaccuracies to a historian's eye, it looked pretty damn identical to Sara's ignorant recollection.

  "What's your name, soldierboy, so I don't have to keep calling you soldierboy?"

  "I am Sergente Ignite Parables."

  Sara blinked. "Damn. That's a hell of a name."

  "In my nguage it is different. More common. But the names of my people have meanings, and to call me by words you do not understand you would insult me."

  "Noted, Ignite," Sara nodded. In some ways, doing things that way made more sense to her. If your name was a word, why bother having everyone else flub its pronunciation when it could just be transted? She extended a hand for him to shake as he finished shucking off his breastpte, leaving him in a sweat-soaked shirt. "What about st names versus first names? Should I call you Ignite, or Parables, or Mr. Parables?"

  "I am a prisoner of battle. Ignite is appropriate."

  "Cool. Now, I've got a second question for you, Ignite." Sara waited for him to finish unbuckling his greaves so she could look him in the eye. "What're you going to do after all this?"

  He cocked his head curiously. "I do not understand your meaning."

  "Y'know, after all of this," she said, gesturing to the ship around them in general. "I'm not going to keep you prisoner for long. I'm heading for the old Tulian capital, and I really doubt there's going to be much in the way of prisons there. Your wizard friend said it was your duty to kill yourself to hide your ship's secrets, but you don't seem to be hot to trot to get that done."

  "No," he agreed, then paused as he looked down at the various hogtied men and women around his feet. "May we discuss elsewhere?"

  "Sure, sure," Sara said, taking him out of the room. The deck outside, while still a mess of activity, was now free from rain, with even the occasional bit of sunlight splitting through the crowds.

  She had him walk in front of her as they went up to the wheel, where Captain Nora and Evie were still standing. The catgirl was drenched, but otherwise unruffled, not a single wound visible.

  "Did you have fun, Master?" Evie asked as they approached.

  "Boarding another ship like a goddamn pirate? Fighting for my life in a storm, side to side with one of my girlfriends?" Sara ughed. "Hell yeah I did!"

  Evie smiled. "I'm pleased to hear it." Her attention turned to Ignite, who was standing awkwardly between them all. "Is this the man Hurlish captured?"

  "Yup. He was in charge of the Magecraft's soldiers, a Sergeant or something. Seemed like a decent enough dude, so I'm gd he made it out."

  "As am I," Ignite said. He gnced nervously at Captain Nora, who was using her elevated position to keep a hawk's eye on the work going on below. "Is this Captain Nora?"

  "Aye," she said, not looking away. "Sorry 'bout your boys and the ballistae back there, Sergeant. Couldn't have ye cutting up my Champion. I'm sure y'understand."

  "It is battle," he agreed solemnly.

  Sara was about to move on to her original reason for bringing the man up to the helm, but when she saw the awkward foot-shuffling he was doing beside Captain Nora, she held off. He was clearly trying to work up the courage to say something.

  "Captain, if I may," he said, taking care to enunciate each word. "You will follow the Salian Accords with your prisoners?"

  "All two of my prisoners, y'mean?" Captain Nora chuckled. "Sure, sure, I'll follow 'em. No point startin' a career with bad blood."

  "Starting a career...?"

  Evie grinned devilishly, answering for the distracted Captain. "This was her first day as a captain, Sergente. And yesterday was the first time she set foot on a boat."

  "Oh."

  Sara expected some further reaction, but he only stared with gssy eyes, shoulders slumped.

  Sara walked up, thumping him on the back. "Don't feel bad, Ignite. She's read a lot of books."

  "I... see."

  She waited to see if Ignite had anything else to say to Captain Nora. When he said nothing, she leaned over the railing, calling down to Hurlish.

  "Hey, get on up here! We got group talking to do."

  Hurlish stood with a borious groan, hefting her hammer up onto her shoulder. "Right. Give me a sec."

  Sara took Ignite over to the back of the ship, which was mostly undamaged. He propped his elbows up on the railing, resting as he stared down at the ship's wake. Sara gave him space. She knew that somewhere down there floated the remains of his ship, drifting through the blood of his comrades. He was taking his defeat as well as could be expected, but Sara didn't think there existed anyone who could be totally stoic in such a scenario.

  Eventually Hurlish stomped up to the deck, having equipped two former sves with sabers and tasked them with guarding the door. Sara wouldn't be shocked if she went back down in a few minutes and found three fresh corpses, but also didn't particurly care.

  "What's up, Sara? Deciding what to do with Mr. Plume over there?"

  "More or less. Evie, Nora, I'd appreciate it if you pitched in your opinions."

  "Aye."

  "Of course."

  Ignite turned away from the ocean, straightening into a military stance. He looked like a man on trial, and Sara supposed that he sort of was.

  "Alright, everyone, here's what we've got," Sara began. "This dude is Sergeant Ignite Parables, and he nearly got me killed a few hours ago."

  "So we should kill him," Evie stated.

  "No, but I appreciate the thought. It turns out that he's actually a pretty decent guy, and a good leader at that. His soldiers were loyal, he prioritized their lives over victory, and he kept a cool head while giving solid orders in the middle of a fight."

  "Ah, shit," Hurlish said. "I see where this is going. But you're not really gonna fuck 'em, right?"

  Ignite's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull.

  "No, I'm not going to fuck him, Hurlish," Sara said, waving a hand to calm Ignite.

  "But you're winding up for a recruiting pitch, aren't ya?"

  "Yes, but I'm fully capable of befriending people I haven't had sex with. Look at Nora."

  Hurlish and Evie shared a doubtful gnce. "That's just a matter of time," Hurlish said.

  "Most likely," Evie nodded.

  "Likely tonight, matter o' fact," Nora agreed, shrugging. "If this damnable mess gets sorted, that is." She leaned forward, yelling down. "Hey! You! Yes, you! Don't pile the damn ropes there, you'll trip everyone comin' down the dder!"

  Sara shoved her face in her hands, groaning. "Okay. Well. I promise I'm capable of keeping my pants on for ten minutes, girls." Blowing hair from her face, she looked up at Ignite, offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Amarat stuff. You don't need to worry about it."

  "Unless you want to," Evie quickly interjected. Hurlish ughed boisterously while Sara felt her face bloom red.

  "Alright, everyone, enough with the sex talk!" She ordered. As soon as she did, unfortunately, Evie's colr fshed, pulling a moan from the catgirl that Sara was certain had been exaggerated. Ignite whipped around to the writhing catgirl, bck eyes narrowed in disbelief. Sara didn't know exactly what the Sergeant had expected when he'd been captured by the first mortal ship to ram a Magecraft, but it probably wasn't a polycule flirting around him during the pseudo-trial that would decide his life's course.

  "Aaaaanyway!" Sara drew the word out, trying to reign the conversation back under her control. She cpped her hands, turning to Ignite, who looked like he was regretting a number of decisions that led him to this moment.

  "You're a good soldier, Ignite, and more importantly, you're good at giving orders. That's not something any of us have, and I'm pretty sure it's a skill I'll be needing soon. I was actually hoping to offer you a job."

  Cautiously, as if disbelieving that the innuendos were finished, he leaned forward. "You say a job, but you do not say what." He spoke with quiet intensity, the clipped cadence of a man used to giving and receiving orders. Being 'offered' a job by the crew of the ship that had just gutted his didn't seem something he'd prepared for.

  "Remember how I said I'm going to the old Tulian capital?" Sara said. "Well, I'm kinda pnning to take the city over, since there's no one else in charge at the moment."

  "And you wish for my help?" His lip curled distastefully. "A mercenary, sughtering for coin?"

  "I was thinking something more like 'head of the city guard'," Sara corrected, picking up on his distaste for mercenaries. "It's been abandoned for a decade, without any kind of formal government. I don't know who's in charge there, but I can't imagine they're ruling by popur demand."

  Ignite looked more than doubtful. Whether it was the inappropriate dispys or something else, he looked more ready to hop overboard than sign up under Amarat's banner. Sara took a deep breath, so exhausted that it took a solid few seconds for her to dip into the twenty charisma points that Amarat had blessed her with. She took what she knew of the man, from his well-polished armor to reliance upon the framework of order to guide his actions, then decided how best to phrase the proposition.

  "You're a soldier of honor, Ignite Parables," she began firmly, csping her hands behind her rigid back, "and that is something difficult to find. I am not trying to conquer a city. I am trying to restore it. Law and order have crumbled, and the people suffer for it. I wish you to make the streets safe to walk by delivering punishment unto those that deserve it."

  Ignite's face, while still stony, seemed intrigued. Sara continued.

  "I am interested in you, in particur, because of the care you showed for your soldiers. The new Tulian will not be a nd of lords and dies, but a republic, where all deserve and receive respect. I wish- I hope that words alone will protect the weak from the strong, but I fear noble sentiment alone will not suffice. I need a thorn to my rose, and think you best suited of any I've met in this world for the task."

  Sara nodded sharply, concluding her speech, and turned around. "You will have several days to think it over, Sergeant. In the meantime, you will stay in one of the officer's quarters with a guard posted outside your door, but you will not be restricted to the room. So long as you have an escort, you are free to walk about the ship. Follow me."

  Sara began stomping down the stairs, not looking back to see if he was following. After a few seconds she heard a second set of footsteps on the stairs, matching the beat of her pace. She allowed herself a small smile. It seemed Ignite Parables, while rebellious enough to defy the Magecraft's suicidal self-destruct order, had spent so long in the military that he took comfort in direct commands.

  Sara deposited him in a random officer's room, one of the five on the top deck, and asked one of the sves Hurlish had armed with a saber to guard him. It was an imperfect solution, but all she had. Considering the disparity in skill and the existence of levels and abilities, Sara doubted the sve could actually hold their own against even an unarmed Carrion Sergeant.

  As she made her way back to the helm, she considered the dilemma a little bit more. Part of the ethos she was building for the new Tulian was the idea of all people being equal, but how well could that work in this world? When most humans were five-four and there existed Orcs who topped out at eight feet tall, it was a harder sell to cim there were no inherent biological advantages. Evie was far more nimble than Sara, owing to her Feline nature, and true Catfolk were probably even more graceful, while Elves lived for centuries, vastly outstripping human lifespans. The fact that they could all indefinitely interbreed was encouraging from a genetic standpoint, since it meant they weren't different species outright, but she was probably the only person on the pnet that could understand that.

  And then there were Skills. Evie was barely into her twenties, yet her wealth had provided such vastly superior training that she could tear her way through soldiers with years more experience than she. If those born into money had literal, demonstrably superior Skills to common folk, it became far more difficult to argue against outdated ideas like social darwinism or eugenics.

  Then again, she reminded herself, Hurlish had become an incredibly skilled bcksmith in a rural jungle vilge, such that those talents had nded her a prestigious career in a few short years. Either the orc was a once-in-a-generation savant, or the Skills she snagged from Levels had guided her towards talents that repced proper tutorship.

  And Sara had no idea which it was. The internal debate irked her more than most of her usual idle wonderings about this new world. She'd floated from pce to pce thus far, relying on her Champion's blessings and Evie to cover her ignorance, but such a ckadaisical attitude wouldn't cut it when she was trying to lead a city.

  "Hey, Evie, quick question," Sara said as she returned up top. "How much faster do you think your mercenary buddy's training help you Level up?"

  The catgirl cocked her head, surprised by the question, but answered immediately.

  "I grew in skill more rapidly under Master Graf than I would have otherwise, but to say how much faster it was than under a lesser teacher, I cannot say. Why do you ask?"

  "I was thinking about Ignite down there. Back in my world, since we didn't have anything like Levels or magical Skills, everyone was on equal footing. That doesn't seem to be the case here, and I'm wondering how I can help level the pying field for commoners when we're in Tulian." She turned to Hurlish, who'd sat down with her back on the railing. "How about you? You didn't have any fancy training, right?"

  "I learned from my father, but he was no blue blood," the orc confirmed, yawning. "Got good at making weapons 'cause I had to."

  "But if you'd had a million coins to throw at expensive tutors, it would have gone faster? You would have been more Skilled than you are now, given the same amount of time to learn?"

  "Probably?" The orc shrugged. "I got where I am on my own. That's somethin' to be proud of."

  "Of course it is," Sara agreed. "I'm just wondering if it's something anyone can do."

  Nora piped up. "I think I know what yer gettin' at, Champion. Yer wondering if just anyone can hold their own against the rich types like ol' Evie over there, or if there's no point in even tryin'."

  "More or less," Sara said. "Ignite, for example. In my old world an untrained sve with a sword would be more than enough to kill him, but it's different here, isn't it? He could probably grab it right out of their hands before they could blink."

  "Aye, he probably could," Nora confirmed. "Just the nature of things. No substitute for experience, they say."

  "Hm." Sara pursed her lips, thinking. "I'm gonna have to do something about that. I don't like the idea of rich people getting to pay their way to superiority."

  "It ain't just money," Hurlish grunted. "It's more than that. If money was all it took, every rich brat'd be a one-man army. Thankfully for the rest of us, most ain't got the guts to stomach proper discipline. Easier to pay someone who knows what they're doin' than learn yourself." She gnced up at Evie, who was listening passively. "Present company excluded."

  "No, you're right," Evie admitted. "I took up the rapier because I enjoyed it, but there were a great many things that I left to others rather than learn myself. I'm no smith, nor carpenter, nor familiar with innumerable other disciplines. Perhaps I could have afforded the tutors required to become a wizened sage, but I'm no Supprestan Monk. I had more pleasurable things to attend to."

  "Thank God for ziness, then," Sara sighed. "I'll still want to do something in Tulian that helps close the gap, though. A public education system, at the very least, but I guess it'd have to be one that focuses more on levels and the like. Hell, I don't even know how getting your first Level works. I mean, do you get it when you hit puberty, or what?"

  Evie hid her smirk, while Captain Nora and Hurlish openly ughed. Sara guessed she'd just asked this world's equivalent of 'how are babies made', judging by their reactions.

  "The first Level comes to people at different times, Master, but often in te adolescence. One must have dedicated themselves to work for some time before it manifests, which rarely happens in children. As for the exact timing, none but the gods know."

  Sara snorted. "I doubt they even know. Amarat's expnations were pretty cking when she dragged me here. I think that sort of thing's a bit beneath their paygrade."

  Captain Nora shook her head. "Talkin' bout gods like they're yer old ftmate. Bah. Champions."

  Sara chuckled. "You might wanna get used to it, Nora. Evie, did you notice what I did, during the battle?"

  "I did, Master."

  "Oh?" Captain Nora looked back, eyebrow raised. "Ye see somethin' I didn't, Champion?"

  Sara nodded. "Yeah. Probably best discussed in private, but I'll give you a hint." She walked up to the suited captain, gently poking her left cheekbone. "Your eyes are blue now."

  "What?" Captain Nora spun about, looking for something reflective in reach. "Damnit, woman, what're ye talking about? Yankin' my chain, are ye?"

  "It's true," Evie said. "An exceptionally clear blue, brighter than any natural coloration for a half-elf. It's rather fortuitous most here don't know you well. Hopefully none of the crew will remember that they used to be brown."

  "Damnit all," Nora cursed, rubbing her eyes as if the color was from a dye that could be squeezed out. "Did I forget another of those accursed deals? I thought they'd all taken effect the moment I stepped on the ship."

  "I think you made a new one a few hours back, Captain," Hurlish grunted. "One that there isn't any getting out of, too."

  "Oh, even the damned bcksmith's gettin' cryptic now, eh?" Captain Nora shook a finger at Hurlish. "Not ye, I swear. Ye were the only reasonable one of this bunch."

  Sara snorted. "You think you're reasonable, Nora?"

  "Nae. That's why I said Hurlish was the only one. We damn well need her to keep our heads on straight."

  Sara ughed. "Well, at least you're honest with yourself." Sara gnced down at the bustling deck. "By the way, didn't you tell some other guy that you didn't want ropes piled over there a minute ago?"

  Captain Nora looked where Sara was pointing, then cursed loudly. "Get that outta there, ye damn fool! I swear, next person that tries to drop their load somewhere asinine gets dropped overboard!"

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  While Captain Nora had teased Sara about an evening encounter in their discussion earlier, the reality proved quite different. Hours upon hours of work were left, and Captain Nora's voice quickly grew hoarse from shouting orders. The Crossed Glory had been utterly cerated in the melee, and its sorry state mirrored that of its crew. Superior numbers had only one way to overcome superior training, and it showed on those that had survived.

  As she walked about the deck, lending a hand when she found a task that didn't require technical knowledge, Sara rarely passed a single person that didn't have stained bandages on some part of their body. They ran out of proper bandages almost immediately, prompting many to tear up their clothes to bind wounds on themselves or others. When Captain Nora had noticed half her crew running about in rags, she'd ordered some of the crates containing textiles to be busted open, using fine silks or spare yards of sail as repcements. Another point in her favor, in Sara's book. Goods like that weren't cheap. She just hoped it was Nora's empathy that prompted the order, rather than her vanity.

  One of the first challenges in leadership Sara encountered in this new world came when she'd insisted that they boil the pilfered textiles before using them as bandages. Even Captain Nora and Hurlish had to be convinced, as they'd both lived their entire lives in pces where healers could wave a hand to resolve any infection. Sara, on the other hand, doubted that any healers would be avaible in the rundown Tulian, and didn't want anyone losing a leg to some terrible disease she could only vaguely remember from history books.

  "Yes, you need to leave it in there for at least five minutes," she insisted to the crewmember monitoring the cookpot that had been stuffed to the brim with trimmed pieces of sail. "I know it sounds weird, but there are actually tiny creatures living on the cloth, and they're what cause infections. You need to make sure they're all dead before you take it out."

  "Even if that's true ma'am, 'iss boilin' water," the woman argued. "Ain't nothin' can survive in there, tiny or not."

  "Most can't, but I don't want you taking chances," she repeated. The quartermaster's area of the second deck had been converted into a trauma ward, treating the worst of the wounded. Sara was arguing between groaning people id out on the rowing benches, a former sve nearby that had once been a seamster using a barbarically thick needle to stitch wounds shut. Regrettably, the ship's lone surgeon had been one of those killed in the mutiny, and his supplies hadn't been found. "Five minutes, no less. I don't care if it goes longer, but you're not putting dirty bandages on the wounded, understand me?" She turned to the seamster. "Change the bandages regurly, probably every twelve hours or so."

  "I will, m'dy- I mean ma'am." The seamster wasn't the only one among the crew taking a while to adjust to not using noble honorifics to refer to Sara. "But ma'am, even if doing so stops an infection, why worry? A healer will set them right as rain as soon as we're in port."

  "Because I don't know if there will be a healer, and I don't know how long it'll be until we can find one if there isn't. If I didn't tell you to do all this and even one person died because of it, it'd be on me. I'm not interested in living with a heavy conscience."

  There was a wet cough from beside Sara. "I like her," a wounded woman said, spitting a bit of blood onto the floor. She had a puncture in her chest, and the blood that she spat wasn't encouraging. "Just do as she says, Nidd. Champion knows better than us."

  "But what if the time I take to stitch and wrap every little scrape means I don't get to someone worse in time?" The seamster countered. Sara made a mental note that his name was Nidd. "I'm wasting time on trivialities. That might have consequences."

  "Do you need more help?" Sara asked. "I can ask around the crew-"

  "I already did. I'm the only one that's even held a damned needle before, if you can believe it. Foul luck, that."

  Sara walked over to the wounded sailor he was attending, kneeling beside Nidd. "Then show me what to do. I've got steady hands, and I know a little bit about anatomy, but I've never stitched anybody up before."

  Nidd stared at her incredulously. "You want to help me, Champion?"

  "There are plenty of reasons I get down on my knees these days, Nidd, but very few of them are appropriate in a hospital. Yes, I'm going to help."

  He shook his head to clear his disbelief, then handed Sara a blood-soaked needle and spool of thread. Sara took it dutifully, scooting over to watch over his shoulder.

  "A rip in the skin and a rip in a shirt aren't too different, when you get down to it," he began, shifting so she could see his movements. "You see the pattern I'm making? Begin with a puncture at the bottom, then feed the thread through..." Sara mimicked his motions with the tools in her own hands, trying to ignore how filthy they were. "If the poor fellow was awake, I'd give him something to bite down on. If they're still moving too much, I've been having Semel or some of the better-off patients hold them down. Don't want to rush though, even then. I knew a few old soldiers back home that had these big nasty scars on their shoulder or whatnot that kept them from moving too much, and they said it was because of botched stitches, so I've been trying to use as little thread as possible..."

  Sara followed his motions, asking questions here and there. In short order she began to stitch on the same patient that Nidd was working on, getting his approval before moving on. The fact that neither of them truly had any idea what they were doing weighed on her, but she pushed it away.

  She began to expin what she knew of medicine to Nidd while they worked, either out of a desire to cover for her own ignorance or to genuinely help him treat the patients, she wasn't sure. She wasn't a skilled lecturer, that was certain, but when speaking to someone whose education on medicine resembled a pgue doctor's, she found plenty to expin. She started with the purposes of various organs, most of which she could remember, then moved on to what exactly blood does in the body, then the way lungs breathed in oxygen (something trees made) and exhaled carbon dioxide (something trees 'ate'). All the while they moved from patient to patient, doing their best to reassure and treat them.

  Eventually there were no more wounds to stitch. Those that remained in the mock infirmary were as well treated as she could manage, which left the rest of their survival up to luck. She even surreptitiously slipped a few of the worst-off patients some drops of her limited supply of health potions, something that she knew Evie would be irate over if it was discovered. She had to keep most of the potions on hand in case they needed to heal an immediately lethal wound, but she hoped what little she spared would at least stabilize those whose condition was deteriorating.

  She eventually took over the boiling and changing of bandages from Semel, who looked ready to drop. Sara walked up and down the rows between the twenty or so half-conscious patients, changing any bandages that had been soaked through with blood. Every now and then she also made a trip up to the top deck, coercing the walking wounded into changing their bandages. The repair work was sweaty and exhausting, so plenty of clotted wounds reopened.

  Sara also took particur care with Hurlish, whose wounds were deeper and wider than just about any other's. The orcish woman grouchily insisted that she would be fine, and that Sara's hovering was nothing more than an annoyance, but Sara'd learned better by now. If Hurlish had actually thought the wounds weren't a big deal she'd be working, not resting at the helm with her hammer by her side and her breastpte still strapped on. Hurlish felt weak, even if she wouldn't admit it.

  Eventually Sara returned to the top deck with another load of sterilized bandages and found herself shocked to realize night had fallen. Many of the crew were spyed out on the deck, sleeping up top rather than crowding into the decks below. Captain Nora was still up at the wheel, holding it in pce with a knee while both hands sketched on a map, neck craned up to gauge their position by the stars. Evie's sleeping head was preventing the woman's map from fluttering off in the wind, while Hurlish had joined those passed out on the deck.

  Sara smiled at the sight as she handed bandages out to those were still active, checking over those that had fallen asleep to make sure none needed a fresh set. She thought about heading to the helm with Nora and offering her help there, but she didn't have much to offer when it came to sailing and navigating. Rubbing the crust from her eyes, she headed back down, in case one of the wounded needed her help.